


Only Two More To Go

by QueenElizabeth



Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, Scottish Actor RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Italy, Suggestive studies in espresso, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:38:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5344415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenElizabeth/pseuds/QueenElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The latest of my alternatives to proper sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Two More To Go

She held the sturdy porcelain cup in her hand, absorbing the warmth as if it were the literal source of some unseen spiritual life force. Indeed to her, it was. She brought it to her lips with a joyfully languorous inhale. She let her breath escape from her lips, and took a healthy sip in her ritualistic way. Good espresso should feel something like melted butter in the mouth. The flavors dance and change as the liquid moves from the front of the tongue, to the back, and finally down the throat. It becomes a lot of different things from the time you take that first sip until the flavor disappears – earthy, flowery, spicy, smooth, dark, sometimes subtle; sometimes overwhelming. Something about it reminded her of her lover.

“Peter, baby…” she began, as she looked out across the sun dappled terrace at him: her best friend, her partner in adventure, “Have you still not taken a picture? You’ve been out there for twenty minutes.”

He called back to her, breaking away from his camera for the first time all morning: “I’ve taken an entire roll. It’s brilliant today.” His enthusiastic smile melted her, without fail. The way his nose crinkled, the way his eyes wordlessly conveyed his every emotion, beaming back at her from across the Tuscan countryside.

She returned his smile as a pang of want hit her. She had always romanticized that once you were with the “right” lover, with your soul mate, “ _the one_ ,” that you would feel content all of the time. Whatever need you may have had, existentially, well, that would be fulfilled. If that were the truth, she had certainly not found it, not today, and not ever, because being around Peter was like having an exquisite itch deep inside that she could never satisfy for very long. Oh, how she fancied a scratch.

There were eighteen rooms in the villa they’d rented for their holiday, and although nine were indeed bedrooms, they had made love in fifteen of them. What transpired in number sixteen, however, required a different label. “Two to go,” she thought. It was built by the Medicis, like everything worth its salt in this area. From the little tower on the rooftop, they could see most of Vicchio – rolling hills, gentle riverbed, and the imposing iron crosses that decorate the tops of churches. The erstwhile Catholic schoolgirl in her smirked. This place was holy, indeed.

He took a seat next to her on the wicker bench and fiddled with the Nikon. Another sip of espresso blessed her senses.

“There’s one left,” he said.

She looked at him expectantly, securing a windblown piece of her hair back behind her ear.

He raised the camera to his eye and smiled as he leaned his body backward to perfect the frame.

“ _Bellissima_ ,” he said, and took the shot. “My favorite subject,” he continued as he placed the camera down on the table.

She smiled humbly, feeling nearly as adored as she actually was.

He placed his arm around her, gently, and pressed a kiss to her exposed collarbone.

She exhaled sharply as a shiver shot over her skin, her eyes blissfully slamming shut. These silent attacks were always the most deadly. She opened her mouth to ask him, “so what shall we do today?” but it remained silently agape as a second kiss followed the first.  She closed it again and swallowed hard as his stubble grazed her neck. She let her head fall softly to her side, to rest against his, as he brought his lips to her ear.

His voice was calm and measured. His diction was pointed and purposeful. His natural timbre, resonant and rasping, only intensified in its ability to shake her very foundation when he spoke to her like this. He licked his lips and the back of her earlobe. “Only two more to go,” he whispered.


End file.
